Opinion: Where Skyrim Fails

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Bethesda's latest has more wrong with it than just bugs.

By Nathan Grayson

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim is the darling of critics and RPG-lovers. While the game is beautiful, involving, technically impressive, it's a long way away from being the perfect RPG. Indeed, developer Bethesda has a lot to learn from other RPGs and even action games, in terms of creating a convincing narrative experience, tweaking leveling mechanics and generating emotional pull.

There are No Consequences

It's difficult to feel guilty when playing an evil character in Skyrim. In other games, wanton murder and general terror are one-way guilt trips that leave many players unable to look at themselves in the mirror. But in Skyrim, frolicking through fields and punting all fluffy bunnies who dare oppose you feels right as rain.

So when you attempt to turn an innocent Argonian into a handbag or rob a blind man, well, blind, guilt's noticeably absent from the equation because Skyrim's absolutely terrible at offering tangible consequences for your misdeeds.

Admittedly, if the player embarks on a killing spree, the bounty system kicks in and guards leap into action. But a low-cost bribe / fine is all that's needed to release the shackles and saunter on, whistling a merry tune.

Removing the arbitrary good/evil meter so many other games employ is a step in the right direction, but there's nothing taking its place. Instead, in order to let you meander about as an RPG Main Character at leisure, Skyrim opts to be a static, consequence-free world that revolves around you. And so, every being with vocal chords won't let you take two steps without jumping at the chance to spew some canned catchphrase in your direction.

This sort of thing works in, say, Modern Warfare, where meticulously linear scripting rules the day, but in Skyrim's wide-open reaches? Not so much. And that's just the beginning.

For instance, let's say you've become the leader of the Dark Brotherhood. You've got enough blood on your hands to paint a city made entirely of farmhouses and filled with fire trucks. But you can merrily skip over to the comparatively saintly Companions, assume a position of ultimate power, and nobody so much as bats an eyelash. That's like watching the Justice League roll out the red carpet for Lex Luthor.

Moreover, as leader, you can then immediately hit the road and never look back. And, of course, no one cares. Once again, the world's on pause.

Skills and leveling stumble down a similarly criss-crossing path. Pretty much everything you do grants you some nebulous amount of experience points, but the world reacts to your central, all-encompassing "level" regardless of whether you've earned it through combat or not.

So even if you fancy yourself Mr Pacifist McBlacksmith, the game will designate you a Big Damn RPG Hero with all the high-leveled enemies that entails. Usually, that simply leads to a frustratingly quick death at the hands of whatever nasty creature decides to grab hold of the food chain and choke you with it. Occasionally, though, you might polish off a dragon but get torn to frosted flakes by Tony the Murder Tiger or some other woodland creature. Suddenly, your heroic accomplishments don't feel quite so epic anymore.

Combat is Weak

Combat, meanwhile, is still mystifyingly rooted in musty hack 'n' slash mechanics that look positively ancient next to other RPGs like Dark Souls. Sure, enemies actually react to having blades embedded in their clavicles this time around, but, you know, the entire industry has been doing that for a decade or so.

Stealth, too, feels like it belongs in some mid-nineties pre-Metal-Gear-Solid stab in the dark. More often than not, behind-the-scenes dice rolls steal the spotlight from your actions, leading to a feeling of disconnectedness. It's in these moments that Skyrim's gorgeous high-fantasy facade melts away, revealing nothing but a sluggish set of ones and zeroes behind the curtain.

Now compare that sloth-like step forward to, say, the night-and-day difference between combat and stealth in the original Deus Ex and Deus Ex: Human Revolution. The industry's grown by leaps and bounds, but Bethesda's core RPG mechanics – as seen in everything from Morrowind to Fallout: New Vegas – have continued to exist in their own little bubble, ostensibly unaware of advances like convenient spell/item interfaces and sneaking that doesn't have to verbally tell us whether or not we can be seen. The end result? Clutter where there should be options. Resitance where there should be power.

In attempting to give players everything and ye olde kitchen sink without any real strings attached -- whether that means letting us lead every organization short of the Boy Scouts or clumsily stumbling through every spell in the book -- Skyrim renders us impotent. Our actions can't actually affect or change Bethesda's pristine world, and said world can't really push us around either. It's like slobbering all over the thick glass window at a pastry shop.

The worst part is that, when Skyrim tiptoes near the brink of real, tangible consequence, it feels like it's about to stumble across something brilliant. For example, you've probably hacked 'n' slashed many a bandit to the point of crawling away while pitifully begging for mercy. A first, you might have legitimately tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Before long, though, they simply stand up, mutter something about "not letting it end like this," and practically leap at the pointy end of your blade. They, of course, perish, but the status quo lives to fight another day.

Can you imagine the possibilities, though, if Bethesda didn't merely tease us with that kind of convention-breaking moment? Perhaps spared enemies could eventually offer to join your cause, grateful that you didn't fill their face with arrows such that they spent their final moments looking like a walrus. Others, meanwhile, could maybe flee and grow stronger, biding their time until they see fit to seek vengeance. Same for, say, family members of random innocents you've slain. How much more intense would an already unpredictable dragon battle be with the possibility of some revenge-fueled pseudo-stalker breathing down your neck?

Skyrim comes closer than just about any other game to creating a truly believable world. And yet, it's only when we're this close that we can really see how far we still have left to go.